The land around here looks like it belongs to the side of a lake,
it slopes downward gently, suggesting a meeting with water,
it front-yard-surfs on grass rippling winds,
it slowly sails under the puffy power of clouds.
but the water is in our bathtubs and sinks,
it is in our plumbing and it gurgles and clanks
when its alcohol content runs low.
Water is forced uphill by a secret pumping station
on the far shore of the State freeway.
When it rains we consider this a drowning,
none of us will swim, considering swimming
a prolongation of our ultimate dark night,
besides our above ground pools allow only space
for the whelping of baby seals, and we honor that.
There is of course, always ice for tinkling glasses.
If the rain persists, we are all drowned by evening
then we can only roll gently, and dare not trust
the floppiness of potted feet,
and so we tumble towards an imagined lake
one that waits for us
at the end of someone else’s drive.
However by morns early light
we are washed up on this tilting land again
and all is as dry as beached fish bones,
bones that are known to be reconstituted into pills
for the medication of occasional overbrightness.
Do you know in how many arms
And in how many imaginations you slept?
How many are tortured by your charms
And in how many hearts you’re kept
How many hours you spend in their laps
Till the reality strikes them, and their fantasies collapse!
How passionately your lips are kissed
How earnestly you’re longed for and missed
Do you know how many dream of you?
While being with someone else
But poor creatures! What can they do?
If your beauty is such a curse
Though all of them have you in head
Poor lovers! None will ever have you in bed!
Note: This an old poem, from 2015, i didn't post it then, and it didn't intend to now, because i thought it's a little "obscene", and i also have forgotten completely about it, till i saw the contest by Lewis Raynes "A sexy surreal", then i remembered it and thought to give it a chance, i hope everybody like it, and not to find it at least "too" obscene!, Thank you all, and sorry for the Prolongation!
He was there recumbent like a log
Cancer has culminated,prevailing over him
Enfeebled all his shielding apparatuses
Yet spurned to frolic prolongation
Eschewed palliative care ministrations
He detected the vital prognosis was engaged
He had instead to plough money into God's certitude
For he realized HE implements nothing fortuitously
Could he yet afford to acquit himself otherwise
Engage in a battle lost right from the dawn ?
Every call I get
I ignore, praying its you
Please make this come true
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